Greg and I pretty much agree that I am the optimist and he is the pessimist, or as he likes say, the realist. Like Yin-Yang, we fit together but neither is totally black or white.
Yesterday, before the note writer ruined my day, I scratched out a piece of peace on this earth at the river. As I approached the beach I saw bright red swatches polluting the shore. I had just picked up a bag of garbage along the trail and figured I'd wade in and pick up whatever plastic bits I found.
Upon closer inspection, I saw they were rose petals.
"I wonder what happened to make someone tear up their roses and throw them in the river?" I asked Greg picturing a scorned lover or a rejected suitor.
"It was probably a wedding. It is a beautiful place to get married and people do it all the time."
I think I was just yanged.
